The Christmas Shoes
by Emily Elizabeth
Summary: You guessed it! A story based on the popular, tear-jerking, Christmas song. While in a department store on Christmas Eve, Nick meets a little boy who touches his heart. References to NS, but just to make the story flow.


Title: The Christmas Shoes  
  
Rating: G  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
Dedication: This story is dedicated to all my Snickers on Christmas, but especially to the following people: Jacqueline, Missy, Brianna, Lissa, and Megan. Thank you so much for just being.you.  
  
Author's Note: I know that my last Christmas story was kind of sad. All I'll say about this one is that it's not the happy story you were looking for, although I don't think it's as sad as 'Brown-Eyed Christmas'. But you never know. Lol  
  
Nick's POV  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Don't even think about coming home without it!"  
  
Sara's words still ring in my ears as I stand in line amidst dozens of other last-minute holiday shoppers. I glance at my watch for what seems like the hundredth time this hour, and I find myself tapping my foot impatiently against the black and white linoleum flooring. The action surprises me, and I'm sure the shock is evident on my face because a silver- haired woman quickly looks away as the rhythmic beat stops.  
  
I know it's a tick I've picked up from my wife, and the knowledge makes my annoyance with this evening's events bubble to the surface once more.  
  
In my hand is a deluxe Robo-man transformer action figure with voice- activated controls, collector's edition comic book, and plastic body plates to change his appearance when he becomes his secret identity, Chris Castings. It's the one thing my son wants for Christmas, and the reason I'm standing in line in this department store on Christmas Eve. It's also the only one left in the entire city.  
  
The harsh words Sara and I shared regarding this specific toy not an hour ago still play over and over in my mind, and the fight to push them away is futile. The thing that makes me the angriest is that I know she's right, and I hate that. Although I suppose that by this time I should be used it.  
  
Sara had asked me to pick up Robo-man for Adam weeks ago, and I had promised I would, but other things had come up and the task slipped my mind. The argument that ensued when she asked me for it tonight is predictable, so I'll suffice it to say that I should pick up a comfortable pillow and blanket while I'm here, because I have no doubt that visions of sugar plums will haunt me from the couch tonight.  
  
It's my own fault, on both counts. The first being my absentmindedness in failing to pick up the toy, and the second being arguing with her when I knew I had no chance in winning. If there's one thing having five sisters should have taught me, it's never to argue with a pregnant woman. Especially when that pregnant woman is Sara Sidle.  
  
So here I am, another poor soul out shopping on Christmas Eve when I should be home with my family. And somehow the feelings usually evoked in me during the holiday season are missing, and all I want to do is get home and go to sleep.  
  
I glance at my watch again, and I groan as I realize the time. Right now Adam's probably setting out the cookies and milk for Santa Claus, and Sara's probably getting ready to read him 'The Night Before Christmas', a tradition usually reserved for me while Sara sits on the edge of the bed, listening intently.  
  
The line starts moving and I silently thank God as I realize that there's only one person in front of me, a young boy with ruffled blonde hair and denim-blue eyes. He looks about Adam's age, maybe a few years older. It's difficult to tell because he's so thin.  
  
His faded blue jeans and thick red jacket are worn and old, as are his nondescript sneakers, and I notice that his pant legs don't quite meet his shoes, leaving a two-inch gap where once-white socks show through. In his hand is a shoebox that he holds so tightly that the cardboard is beginning to crumple, and I notice with a half-smile that the size printed on the side is the same that Sara wears.  
  
The boy's face is streaked with dirt, and his hair is in a similar state, although it's apparent that he's tried to make the unruly and tangled mess look presentable. Although his dark blue eyes look saddened, they possess a somewhat hopeful and anxious quality.  
  
The boy steps up to the counter and carefully places the box down, and then looks up at the cashier, whose salt-and-pepper hair is cut short and whose blank eyes stare at an undefined point in space.  
  
"Sir, I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma, please," he states as he pushes the box toward the man, and his voice is filled with youthful innocence. "It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size."  
  
The boy smiles up at the man, but the sentiment isn't returned as the cashier lazily scans the barcode, either unaware or uncaring of the line that stretches almost to the door, although I assume the latter.  
  
"Could you hurry, sir?" the boy asks, but his tone isn't offensive, rather, it's almost desperate. "Daddy says there's not much time." His eyes fall slowly to the pair of shoes lying on the counter, and his voice softens. "You see, she's been sick for quite awhile, and I know these shoes will make her smile." He bites his bottom lip and looks back up at the cashier, who looks as if he's just heard what the boy was saying. "And.I want her to look beautiful, if Momma meets Jesus tonight."  
  
The boy's words hit me like a thousand knives, and I force down the lump forming in my throat as I think of Sara and Adam at home.  
  
The boy empties his pockets and spills coins of all sizes onto the counter, and together he and the dumbstruck cashier count them. As my ears pick up the sounds around me, it takes everything in my power not to pummel the people in line who groan and roll their eyes.  
  
As the final penny is counted, the cashier's forehead crinkles and his eyes take on a kind and sympathetic quality. "Son, there's not enough here."  
  
The boy stuffs his hands into his pockets and searches frantically for more money, but is only able to come up with a gum wrapper and a penny more. He turns quickly and looks at me, and I can see the desperation in his wide, now glistening eyes.  
  
"Momma made Christmas good in our house," he says, and I notice that his tiny voice wavers. "Most years she just did without. Tell me, sir, what am I gonna do?" He looks longingly once again at the shoes still sitting on the counter. "Somehow I gotta buy her these Christmas shoes."  
  
The last part is said almost in a whisper, and I know that it was directed more to himself than to me. He moves to grab his pennies and walk away, but I put a hand on his shoulder and stop him.  
  
"Wait," I say, and it's all I can make out because my throat is constricted and the lump once again forces its way up. I stuff my hand into my pocket and pull out a wad of bills, laying a few of them on the counter.  
  
The cashier looks at me, as if confirming that I want to do this, and I nod. The boy stares at me, wide-eyed, only this time his eyes are filled with something else. Something wonderful and hopeful, and I know I'll never forget the look etched across his young face.  
  
"Momma's gonna look so great."  
  
The cashier rings up the purchase and places the shoes in a plastic bag, and the boy graciously takes it. He thanks me, eyes still shining as a smile stretches across his face, and he runs out of the store.  
  
I ask the cashier to quickly ring up my purchase, and he does so as I throw a few bills on the counter and run out of the store without taking my receipt, following the boy. I glance quickly in both directions and see him about thirty yards in front of me, walking down the street with the bag swinging in one hand.  
  
I run to catch up with him and finally do so, placing my hand on his shoulder to spin him around. He jumps at first, but the fear fades from his face as he recognizes me.  
  
"What's your name, buddy?" I ask through breaths, chest heaving from having run down the street.  
  
"Jonathan, sir," he says, and he smiles as he does so, "Jonathan Brenner."  
  
I smile in return and pull the Robo-man doll from the bag. "This is for you, Jonathan," I say as I hand him the package.  
  
The boy's eyes light up as he takes the package from my hands. "Really?" he asks.  
  
My head bobs in a nod as I answer. "Yup. Tell your mom I said Merry Christmas."  
  
He looks up at me and smiles again. "I will. Thank you, sir."  
  
I smile but say nothing as I walk back down the street in the opposite direction. I know that Jonathan is still standing there, admiring his new toy, because I can hear him reading the features from the back of the box, and my smile stretches.  
  
I know that Sara will be upset that I'll come home empty-handed, and I know that Adam will be disappointed in the morning, but I also know that the disappointment will be short-lived when he sees the other outlandish gifts he'll receive. And I know that I've done the right thing.  
  
~*~*~  
  
"Bring all that wrapping paper outside," Sara commands, and I oblige as I grab the large pile to bring it out to the garbage can. When I came home last night without Robo-man, Sara was furious, but she calmed down once I explained everything to her. Adam, of course, was devastated that he didn't receive the toy he wanted, but he quickly got over it when he opened his Play Station system.  
  
I pull the lid from the garbage barrel and stuff the mound of paper inside, closing the lid with a triumphant snap. On my way back inside, I snatch the newspaper from the sidewalk but realize that I grabbed it from the wrong end when the papers are scattered across the yard. I quickly pick them up, but one section in particular catches my attention.  
  
I look down and realize that it opened to the obituary section, and something inside me draws me to the 'B' section. A lump catches in my throat as I read a familiar name and look down at the smiling face of a woman no older than Sara.  
  
'Elizabeth Brenner Born April 6, 1972 Died December 24, 2013 Survived by her loving husband Charles And their son Jonathan'  
  
I carefully tear the notice and stick it in my pocket before looking up at the sky, which is painted with the orange and purple haze of dawn, and know that she looked beautiful in her Christmas shoes.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
A/N~ In case you didn't already know, this story was inspired by the song 'The Christmas Shoes' by Bob Carlisle. The dialogue when they're in the store is mostly verbatim from the song, whose lyrics are below.  
  
Feedback is appreciated.  
  
~Emily  
  
It was almost Christmas time  
  
There I stood in another line  
  
Tryin to buy that last give or two  
  
Not really in the Christmas mood  
  
Standing right in front of me  
  
Was a little boy waiting anxiously  
  
Pacing around like little boys do  
  
And in his hands he had  
  
A pair of shoes  
  
And his clothes were worn and old  
  
He was dirty from head to toe  
  
And when it came his time to pay  
  
I couldn't believe what I heard him say  
  
Sir I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please  
  
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size  
  
Could you hurry Sir?  
  
Daddy says there's not much time  
  
You see she's been sick for quite a while  
  
And I know these shoes will make her smile  
  
And I want her to look beautiful  
  
If Momma meets Jesus tonight  
  
They counted pennies for what seems like years  
  
And the cashier says son there's not enough here  
  
He searches his pockets frantically  
  
And he turned and he looked at me  
  
And he said Momma made Christmas good in our house  
  
Most years she just did without  
  
Tell me Sir  
  
What am I gonna do?  
  
Some how I gotta buy her these Christmas shoes  
  
So I laid the money down  
  
I just had to help him out  
  
And I'll never forget  
  
The look on his face  
  
When he said Momma's gonna look so great  
  
Sir I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please  
  
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size  
  
Could you hurry Sir?  
  
Daddy says there's not much time  
  
You see she's been sick for quite a while  
  
And I know these shoes will make her smile  
  
And I want her to look beautiful  
  
If Momma meets Jesus tonight  
  
I know I won't regret some help as he thanked me and ran out  
  
I know that God sent that little boy to remind me  
  
What Christmas is all about  
  
Sir I wanna buy these shoes for my Momma please  
  
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size  
  
Could you hurry Sir?  
  
Daddy says there's not much time  
  
You see she's been sick for quite a while  
  
And I know these shoes will make her smile  
  
And I want her to look beautiful  
  
If Momma meets Jesus tonight  
  
I want her to look good  
  
If Momma meets Jesus tonight 


End file.
